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Chapter Four

Emery's voice and raised arm brought her chin up. "You can see Tall Timbers now."

Tall Timbers?"

"Pratt named the place, his way of mocking lumberjacks and removal of all the trees."

The farmhouse sat at the end of a long, dirt road, a white two-story with blue shutters. Four stout pillars held up the front of the house and graced the wide country porch. Shrub roses drowsed on both sides of the front steps and massive pines sat in clusters throughout the front yard. Several oaks and elms kept them company, along with an old-fashioned willow swaying in the sultry breeze. On the right, rows of vegetables and flowers strained toward the sun, bordered by a brilliant display of giant sunflowers.

A man waved from a nearby field, put down his hoe, and walked toward the house.

"Pratt," Emery said with a reciprocal wave.

The man ambled forward with the grace and agility of a deer strolling through the woods. Tall and wiry, a full head of silver glistened beneath the harsh rays of the sun. Bushy brows matching his hair rested above sparkling blue eyes. When he smiled, crow's feet crinkled the corners of his eyes, evidence of long, hard days in the elements.

A woman stood in the doorway and wiped her hands on an apron tied around her ample waist. Snow-white hair framed her fleshy cheeks and warm brown eyes twinkled when she raised her hand in a friendly greeting.

"Charlotte," Emery whispered. "Isn't she lovely?" Emery's fondness for the elderly couple eased the trepidation she'd felt on the train. A sigh escaped her lips, but not faint enough for the schoolmaster to miss.

"Have you been holding your breath since we left town?" he said with a laugh.

She didn't have time to respond. Charlotte had left the porch steps and reached out to help her down from the buckboard. "Come along, child. You must be exhausted. Tea cakes and a fresh pot of lemon tea await you."

Her husband stepped forward and offered a hand. "Uncle Pratt. That's what everyone calls me around these parts."

Arms linked, they walked up the steps and into the spacious kitchen. A brick fireplace hugged an outside wall, flanked by a large oval braided rug and two sturdy rockers. A square oak table graced the center of the room, companioned by two long benches at each side and ladder-backs at opposite ends. Charlotte settled into one chair and Pratt the other, while Emery slumped onto the bench across the table from Haven.

"After Charlotte wrestles your life story from you, I'll show you to the guest cottage," Pratt said with a wink.

With a roll of her eyes, Charlotte passed the platter of tea cakes and a pot of tea.

Emery popped a chocolate-frosted cake into his mouth. "If the frosting is chocolate, the cake is white."

Haven reached for one. "And the white frosted cakes?"

"Chocolate, of course. Charlotte likes to keep people guessing."

Haven took a bite and licked the frosting from her lips. "Delicious, but I'll be as plump as the pig I saw near the barn if I eat these every day."

Dimples flashed in Charlotte's rosy cheeks. "Don't be silly, dear; you'll need the strength of Athena if you plan to survive…I mean teach in this wilderness."

"That's the second time I've been warned about the children." Haven felt her brows meet her hairline. "You're teasing me, right?"

"Teaching the urchins of Cobb's Grove will seem like a cakewalk compared to those men you met on the train."

"Men?" Pratt asked. "What men?"

"Oh, it was nothing, really. Two gentlemen—"

Emery made a choking noise. "Is that what they call gentlemen in southern Minnesota?"

"They were a bit on the seedy side and a little into their port when they followed me outside."

"Oh, dear." Charlotte rested her chin in her hand, her eyes wide. "What happened then?"

"Cade Kincannon happened to be riding the train." Emery seemed more than eager to boast about the local hero. "He came to her rescue."

A devilish glint sparked in Charlotte's eyes. "Oh, that Cade, a lady's heartthrob, don't you agree?"

Haven stumbled on the words. "I-I wouldn't know," she lied. "Our exchange was brief, and I was too flustered at the time to assess Cade Kincannon."

A wistful gaze passed through Charlotte's eyes. "If I were thirty years younger, I'd leave you, Pratt Sinclair, get down on my knees and beg the man to take me away."

"A sorry day it would be when you'd leave me for another man." Pratt fanned his hands out, palms up. "Who could compare?"

His wife bestowed him with an adoring look. "You know I'm all stuff and nonsense, dear, but one can dream, can't they?" The teasing banter reminded Haven of Aunt Isabelle and Uncle Jon and brought a stab of loneliness to her heart.

Charlotte must have sensed the change and redirected the conversation. "Why don't you show her to her room, Pratt, and I'll start supper?" Turning to Haven, she added, "I'm sure you'd like to freshen up after that long train ride."

Rising from the bench, Haven nodded. "I would, and thank you for the tea and cake."

"My Pratt likes to eat promptly at six o'clock, gets as ornery as a mink caught in a trap if we're tardy."

Haven followed Emery and Pratt out the front door, speaking over her shoulder. "Six o'clock then."

After a quick tour of the guest cottage, Emery and Pratt left, and returned minutes later with a copper tub and buckets of hot water.

"Charlotte insisted." Pratt gave a playful wink. "She sent the huckabacks too." He laid two lengths of cloth over the edge of the tub and handed her a bar of soap.

Haven looked at the items. "Huckabacks?"

"In layman's terms, towels. Charlotte's got funny names for everything. You'll get used to it."

"Please thank her for me. I'm dying to jump into that tub."

The moment the door closed behind them, Haven slid the latch into place, undressed and lowered her weary body into the water. With the bar of gardenia soap Charlotte sent, she scrubbed every speck of dust and grime from her skin.

Languishing in the steamy water, nagging memories stirred. Matthias' face loomed before her. She blew the air out through her lips and plunged into the water, hoping to wash the image from her mind. When she emerged, a pair of dark gray eyes surfaced—Cade Kincannon's. She wondered if and when she'd see the man again.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Haven crossed the room to answer a knock on the door. After sliding the latch, she pulled the door open and greeted Emery with a smile. "What happened to the red bandana?"

"Retired for the evening." He thrust his arm forward. "But I did bring these."

"Fresh flowers." She leaned in and took a sniff. "A far better choice."

"I've yet to meet a woman who doesn't love scarlet roses and white peonies."

"Don't forget the angelica." She took them out of his hand and beckoned him in with a flourish of her arm. "Come in while I put them in a vase."

While she searched for one in the cupboards, he ambled around the sitting room, stopping to look over a portrait resting on the table next to a chair. "Your family?"

"Yes, my parents, brothers and sister."

"You have your mother's eyes—"

"And my father's hair. That's what everyone says." She filled the vase with water from a pitcher, eased the flowers in and turned to him. "I don't know how Charlotte has time to grow these lovelies on top of all her other chores."

"Charlotte doesn't."

With a pause, she cocked her head. "You grow them?"

Emery nodded.

"A botanist right under my nose. Let's see, you like art and flowers. That makes us kindred souls."

"We have a few minutes." Emery headed for the door and pulled it open. "Would you like to see the garden?"

Haven followed him outside, tugging the door shut behind them.

They walked through the side yard and passed a large pond on the left where a pair of loons searched for their evening meal. A canoe bobbed in the water near shore, anchored by a thick piece of hemp looped over a boulder. Directly ahead, a profusion of blooms dozed beneath the fading sunlight.

"Can you smell the blossoms?"

She nodded and inhaled the delightful scents.

"A mass of color now but soon the autumn winds will blow, and they'll wither and die until spring."

Haven left his side and ambled toward the rows of variegated purple iris, crimson fern leaf peony, buttercup day lilies and yellow loosestrife. Bordering the flowers, she admired the rose shrubs and clusters of Hydrangeas in pink, white and purple. "Guess I know where I'll be spending my leisure hours, weather permitting."

The earth around every plant had been cultivated and tended. Spent blossoms, hand-picked from their stems, littered the ground as if they'd ascended gracefully of their own volition.

"Glad to hear you like the garden. You can help me haul water from the pond since we've had only an inch or two of rain this season."

"Drought conditions. That must be worrisome and the reason for all the fires burning along the tracks?"

"Not only in town but particularly here." He fanned a hand toward the nearby woods. "Forest fires are a constant threat but don't worry, the lumberjacks keep vigilant watch." Pulling his pocket watch from his vest pocket, he checked the time. "How about we pick a handful for Charlotte and then head to the house so we're not late for dinner?"

"Sounds good."

Emery plucked a handful of white and purple hydrangea from the stems while Haven collected a fistful of lilies." Help yourself any time," he added as an afterthought.

"Rest assured." She smiled. "Fresh bouquets will grace the guest cottage every day."

Flowers in hand, they left the garden and made their way to the house. "I didn't see any children around when I arrived."

"Charlotte and Pratt don't have children, now, that is. I think that's why they donated a portion of their land for the school."

"You said, 'now'. Did they have children at one time?"

"Pratt said they had three many years ago when they lived in Maine."

A sick feeling churned in her gut. "Do you know what happened to them?"

"Not from Charlotte…she never talks about it. But Pratt told me they died from an epidemic and are buried at the old homestead. He convinced her to move here, hoping she could move on from her grief."

"Oh, dear, the poor woman."

She knew all about anguish and running from haunting memories. Perhaps she sensed a similar sorrow in Charlotte when they first met. She couldn't put her finger on it at the time, but beneath the cheerfulness, the kindness, an abiding sadness dwelt, discernible only by those who shared the constant misery of loss.

Emery looked at her askance. "Are you all right, Haven?"

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Yes, fine, thank you."

She wasn't all right, and questioned again her decision to leave home. Some days, she questioned her sanity, wondered how she'd make it through another day. What right did she have to barge into their lives with all her emotional baggage, teach their children, no less? What if she failed, couldn't handle the strain so soon after losing Matthias? She'd return to Guilford worse off than when she left, maybe never recover from this nightmare to lead a normal life again.

The porch steps loomed ahead. She drew a deep, silent breath, promising to make it through the evening. One hour at a time, and then one day at a time, she told her panicked heart.

Mouth-watering aromas welcomed Haven and Emery when they entered the kitchen. Charlotte nodded them into chairs and then set down platters of roasted turkey, skillet potatoes, carrots in cream sauce and an assortment of breads and biscuits.

Pratt said grace and then passed the platters of food around the table while Emery raised his glass and toasted to friends, old and new.

"The locket around your neck," Charlotte asked with raised brow. "Irish or Scottish?"

"A gift from my Uncle Jon." Please don't ask me whose likeness is inside. "He hails from Scotland, but met my Aunt Isabelle when he migrated into Northern Ireland."

"And Isabelle is . . . ?"

"My mother's sister. In fact, Isabelle raised my mother after their parents drowned on the journey to America."

Pratt stopped stuffing his mouth long enough to look up and ask a question. "How did you end up in Minnesota of all places?"

"Jon, Isabelle and Mother settled in Boston at first but then couldn't pass up the government's offer to purchase land at a good price in Minnesota Territory. They packed up their large brood and traveled by covered wagon to Guilford, a small settlement in southern Minnesota."

"That's where your parents met?"

Haven turned to Charlotte's voice. "Yes, she met my father, Dawson Finch, soon after they arrived and they married a year later."

Haven braced for the next sequence of questions. Surely, they'd figured out her last name was Morgan, but her maiden name Finch. She filled them in on her siblings before they could ask. "I'm the oldest of four children; two brothers, Willie and Dray, and one sister, Rory, named after our mother."

"A strong Irish name," Charlotte interjected.

Emery stepped into the question lightly. "Your last name is Morgan, which means you're married, to a very understanding man, I might add. Teaching jobs are hard to come by in your neck of the woods, I take it?"

"Our communities are small with one-room schoolhouses. Most of the teachers have been there for years." She dug her fingernails deep into her hands. "And, well, I-I wanted to relocate to a new place."

All eyes fell upon her and silence reigned.

"I'm a widow." Breathe, Haven, breathe. "I lost my husband over a year ago."

Charlotte's brown eyes widened and then softened. "I'm truly sorry, dear. We didn't mean to pry."

Haven looked down, shuffled the food around her plate and realized she hadn't fainted or even collapsed to the floor in a puddle of tears. Her old familiar friend—sorrow—settled in around her, but her voice felt stronger than it had in a long time whenever the subject arose. She lifted her chin and forced a subtle smile. "It's all right. Emery had no way of knowing and it was bound to come up sooner or later."

Pratt found her eyes. "I know what might cheer you up."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Charlotte asked.

Haven gave a short snort. "Well, don't keep me in suspense."

"After we're done eating, how about we all take a walk to the schoolhouse?"

Haven visibly brightened. "I would enjoy that. I've been dying to see where I'll be teaching."

"It's settled then," Charlotte said. "We'll chase the men onto the porch while we clean up and then we'll all take a hike."

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